Eli woke up choking.
Air rushed into his lungs in sharp, painful gasps, as if he had been underwater for far too long. His body reacted before his mind did, muscles spasming violently as he clawed at the floor, nails scraping against rough concrete. Every breath burned. His chest rose and fell erratically, lungs screaming for oxygen that suddenly felt too thin, too heavy.
For a moment, there was nothing but panic.
Then pain reminded him.
He rolled onto his side and retched, bile burning his throat as it hit the concrete floor. His stomach convulsed even though there was almost nothing inside it. Each dry heave sent another wave of agony through his ribs. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges.
The smell of rot was gone.
That alone told him it hadn't been a dream.
The air now carried the familiar scent of dust, oil, and old plastic the unmistakable smell of the convenience store. Faint orange light bled in through the front windows, distorted by cracks running through the glass. Outside, a streetlight flickered weakly, humming like it might fail at any second.
Eli lay there for a long time, breathing shallowly, afraid that if he moved too much the pain would return in full force.
I should be dead.
The thought came unbidden, heavy and absolute.
The memory hit him all at once.
The demon's red eyes.
The smell of decay.
The way reality itself had seemed to tear apart.
The angels.
Their wings.
The blade of judgment falling toward him with absolute certainty.
Eli's fingers curled into the concrete as his heart began to race again.
He pressed a shaking hand to his chest.
No wound.
No blood.
No scar.
His hoodie was torn and scorched in places, the fabric brittle where heat had kissed it. Underneath, his skin was unmarked. Smooth. Intact.
And yet
Beneath his skin, something ached.
It wasn't sharp pain. It wasn't dull either. It was deep and constant, like an ember buried near his heart, pulsing slowly with each beat. Every time he focused on it, his chest felt heavier, like something unseen was pressing outward from inside him.
Eli swallowed hard.
"What… happened to me?" he whispered.
His voice sounded wrong in the empty store too small, too fragile.
He pushed himself upright, groaning as every muscle screamed in protest. His limbs felt heavier than they should have, like gravity had increased while he was unconscious. Sweat clung to his skin, soaking through his clothes. His head throbbed viciously.
The store looked like it had survived an explosion.
One of the aisles had collapsed entirely, shelves snapped and twisted. Glass crunched under his shoes as he staggered forward. The register lay on its side, sparks frozen mid-death. Burn marks scorched the floor in intricate, circular patterns patterns that made his chest ache when he looked at them too closely.
And yet…
No bodies.
No blood.
No sign of the demon.
No sign of the angels.
It was as if the world itself had decided to forget what had happened.
"Was it a dream?" he whispered.
The words tasted wrong.
Dreams didn't leave this kind of pain behind.
Dreams didn't make his hands shake like this.
As he staggered toward the counter for support, the air shifted.
It was subtle at first barely noticeable. A change in pressure. A tightening behind his eyes. The ember in his chest flared faintly, reacting before he consciously understood what was happening.
Eli froze.
Instinct screamed at him to run.
A figure stood near the entrance.
He hadn't heard it arrive. Hadn't seen the door open. One moment the space had been empty, the next it wasn't.
Wings folded neatly behind its back.
Unlike the angels from before, this one looked almost human. Almost.
Silver hair fell past sharp shoulders, strands catching the dim light like polished steel. Its face was flawless in a way that felt unnatural, as if sculpted rather than born. Its eyes glowed faintly blue cold, distant, endlessly calculating.
Symbols hovered behind it, translucent and shifting, forming incomplete halos that hurt to look at directly.
"Eli Cross," the angel said.
The sound of his name snapped something inside him.
Hearing it spoken so calmly, so certainly, made his blood run cold.
"You were not meant to survive."
Eli's mouth felt dry. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs.
"Then why did I?" he asked.
The words surprised him as much as the angel.
The being studied him in silence, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing as if scanning layers of existence Eli couldn't perceive. The pressure in the room intensified, making it harder to breathe.
"You are a mistake," it said finally. "An error that should have been erased."
Eli laughed weakly despite himself. The sound came out broken.
"So… what? You're here to finish it?"
A second presence manifested.
Then a third.
The air vibrated as if reality itself was struggling to accommodate them. The temperature dropped sharply, frost creeping along the edges of shattered glass.
"By order of Heaven," the silver-haired angel continued, "you are to be observed. Not killed. Yet."
Eli blinked. "Yet?"
The angel's gaze sharpened.
"You survived divine judgment once," it said. "We will determine whether that was coincidence… or contamination."
Eli's knees trembled.
"That's… comforting," he muttered.
The angel's eyes hardened instantly.
"Do not mistake mercy for kindness."
For a brief moment just a fraction of a second Eli thought he saw something flicker behind its gaze.
Unease.
Then the pressure vanished.
The angels dissolved into light, their forms unraveling into nothingness as if they had never been there at all.
Silence rushed back in, thick and oppressive.
Eli's knees buckled.
He hit the floor hard, gasping, palms pressed flat against the cold concrete. His entire body shook as delayed terror caught up with him.
Whatever he was…
Heaven had noticed.
And Heaven did not forget.
Far above, beyond human sight, beyond stars and dimensions, something ancient stirred.